THE MAN. That depends on 'im. I'm not lookin' for it. Daise, I love you. I love your eyes. I love your hair. I love you.
THE GIRL. And I love you, Jim. I don't want nothin' more than you in the whole world.
THE MAN. Amen to that, my dear. Kiss me close!
(The sound of a voice singing breaks in on their embrace. THE GIRL starts from his arms and looks behind her along the towing-path. THE MAN draws back against the hedge, fingering his side, where the knife is hidden. The song comes nearer.)
I'll be right there to-night
Where the fields are snowy white;
Banjos ringin', darkies singin'—
All the world seems bright.
THE GIRL. It's 'im!
THE MAN. Don't get the wind up, Daise. I'm here!
(The singing stops. A man's voice says: Christ! It's Daise; it's little Daise 'erself! THE GIRL stands rigid. The figure of a soldier appears on the other side of the stile. His cap is tucked into his belt, his hair is bright in the sunshine; he is lean, wasted, brown, and laughing.)
SOLDIER. Daise! Daise! Hallo, old pretty girl!
(THE GIRL does not move, barring the way, as it were.)